A Review Essay from Books At a Glance
by David Schrock
Editor’s Note:
We are pleased to present this in-depth review essay of David Allen’s monumental work, The Extent of the Atonement, by David Schrock.
David Schrock is Pastor of Preaching and Theology at Occoquan Bible Church, Woodbridge, Virginia, and adjunct professor of systematic theology at Indianapolis Theological Seminary and The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. He earned his PhD in systematic theology from The Southern Baptist Theological Seminary. He is an associate research fellow for the Ethics and Religious Liberty Commission. He has written for The Gospel Coalition, Credo Magazine, 9Marks Journal, Desiring God, Southern Baptist Journal of Theology, Southeastern Theological Review, Criswell Theological Review, and is currently working on a book on the priesthood for Crossway’s Short Studies in Biblical Theology series.
Bringing the Framework of Christ’s Cross into Focus: A Review Essay on the Theological Method of David Allen’s The Extent of the Atonement
Imagine going on a tour of the best art galleries in the world. Over the course of a few weeks you travel to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York City, Le Louvre in Paris, and the Rijksmuseum in Amsterdam. During these weeks you see some of the most beautiful paintings ever produced. Entranced by their beauty, you stand for hours beholding the works of Picasso, Van Gogh, and Rembrandt.
Now imagine on that tour having a traveling companion who is equally interested in art but who has a strange fixation with frames—their edges, their sizes, their shapes. In every museum and with every picture he observes, “See, it has a square frame.” Instead of beholding the brush work of Van Gogh or the eccentricities of Picasso, every painting receives the same treatment: “See the four corners; it is a square.” Or, “Notice, this frame is far smaller than the last, but it too is four-sided. Square-like.”
At the end of your trip, you have seen some of the world’s best paintings and come to appreciate the painters with fresh insight. But you also wonder how your tour might have been different if your attention had not been constantly, even annoyingly, drawn to the shape and size of every frame in the world.
Such is the case with The Extent of the Atonement by David Allen. In his history of the atonement and its extent, Allen has circled the globe—or at least from the Mediterranean to North America through Europe—to find an exhaustive list of quotations about the atonement. But in his collection, he has brought together works of art—descriptions of Christ and him crucified—for the purpose of asking only one question: What does this pastor, theologian, scholar, or author say about the extent of the atonement?
For those who share a penchant for focusing on this narrow question, Allen’s volume will be a treasure. For others who believe the intent, not the extent, of the atonement is more central to understanding Christ’s work, it will be an annoyance. For all who pick up his volume, there will be the possibility of great learning. Nevertheless, I suspect The Extent of the Atonement will do little to change minds about the doctrine related therein. Rather, as I will explain below, Allen’s work will only increase the bibliographic weight on both sides of the intent/extent debate, furthering the divide over Christ’s death and exacerbating a fissure among contemporary Baptists—a target audience for his book.
In what follows, I will summarize the contents of his work, noting the contributions his book makes to atonement theology, and then offer a critical response to the way he presents his material. At 820 pages Allen’s book cannot be reviewed en toto, but from an overview of the book, one that focuses on his methodology, I trust readers of this review will learn how this book will and will not build up the body of Christ.
Introducing Some Fault Lines in David Allen’s Historical Methodology
The Extent of the Atonement begins with a short introduction (xiii-xxviii). In sixteen pages, Allen makes many important definitions and clarifications about his book and its aims. Stressing its historical focus, he calls for the need to look to primary sources (xv) and to cite quotations in context in order to “minimize mischaracterization and to maximize objectivity” (xvi). Because his book focuses on the extent of the atonement in church history, he highlights some of the key preliminary points of departure in this longstanding debate—e.g., interlocutors debate the definition of “Reformed” and “Calvinism” (xiv), the views of John Calvin himself (xv), how to understand the variety of views held by Calvinists after the Reformation (xv, xvii), and when definite atonement emerged as a doctrine in the church.
On this last point, Allen enumerates twelve goals for his book (xxv-xxvi). In these historical suppositions, he claims definite atonement is the new kid on the block and that universal atonement, with only two exceptions, existed long before the Reformation period. Stressing the historical ubiquity of universal atonement explains something of the size of his volume and the method of his argument. While not ignoring exegesis, Allen’s goal is to “hear the debate” throughout church history as “proponents and opponents of limited atonement” either defend or deny the doctrine in question (xxvii). In these ways Allen sets up the book.
While there is much to agree with in his approach, there are yet three ways his introduction reveals limitation in his objectivity and historical approach. First, his choice of language is infelicitous. Speaking anecdotally, I do not know anyone who identifies as a “limitarian,” a word Allen uses with regularity to describe those who hold to definite atonement. “Limited atonement,” likewise, is a term many eschew because it doesn’t capture the truth they believe about the atonement in the way Scripture leads them to believe it. This is not to deny that “limited atonement,” as a label, is untrue. It is to say that focus on “limitation” stresses a point of doctrine that distorts the reality behind the word. To illustrate, it is not wrong to say Jesus teaches his disciples to hate their families (see Luke 14:26), but that truth would be radically taken out of context if his disciples were known by their hatred, rather than their love (cf. John 13:34-35). Such is the problem with defining the atonement with its scope, rather than its substance—the person and power of Jesus Christ. While “limitarians” believe Christ’s death achieves the full complement of new covenant blessings and that not everyone made in God’s image will enjoy these blessings—hence, there is a God-ordained limitation—the stress is on the power, efficacy, and definite nature of the cross, not on the limitation or exclusive privileges of the elect.
Second, Allen’s labor to get the question right is appreciated but ineffective. He writes,
“What exactly is the question we are asking concerning the extent of the atonement? The question is ‘For whose sins did Christ die?’ It is surprising how often those on both sides of the theological fence don’t seem to understand the actual state of the question” (xxiii).
From this, he begins a brief tour of those who do not get the question right: A. A. Hodge, Louis Berkhof, J. Oliver Buswell, W. A. Elwell. Allen is convinced the question is not about the intent of the atonement, but the extent. But this is exactly where the debate lies, and where those he is opposing disagree.
Granting for a moment that Allen’s question is the right one, his book will do little to help those convinced that God’s intent is primary. Why? Because he does not make a biblical case for the extent of the atonement over its intent. Consequently, every time he analyzes someone in church history, he asks the question of secondary importance, while neglecting the question of first importance. If Allen intends to correct his opponents, his book assumes too much. He first needs to prove more convincingly that the extent is a question that can be (or should be) divorced from the intent.
Alternatively, if Allen’s question about the atonement’s extent is not the right question, then his whole project runs in the wrong direction. It introduces the Church to hundreds of vital voices from the past and present, but always focusing on the peripheral issue—the frame, rather than the portrait. Suffice it to say, an abiding reason why the atonement debate continues unresolved is that interlocutors disagree on the question and The Extent of the Atonement does little to address this central debate.
Third, when Allen defines the “limitarian” position, he puts the stress on the question he is asking, and consequently he misrepresents the view he opposes. Here is how Allen defines limited atonement with “three propositions” supported by “four major assumptions/arguments” (xxvii):
- Christ suffered only for the sins of the elect—that is, he was punished for the sins of the elect alone.
- Only the sins of the elect were imputed and/or laid upon Christ.
- Christ only laid down a redemptive price and/or ransom for the elect alone.
- The sufficiency of the death of Christ for all the non-elect is only a hypothetical sufficiency of value.
- The double payment argument, that sins cannot be paid twice (once by Christ on the cross and again by unbelievers in hell), is the key theological argument used to support limited atonement.
- Christ only died for those for whom he intercedes (a la John 17).
- The atonement and the application of the atonement are coextensive: those for whom Christ died are those who must be saved due to the effectual nature of the atonement.
These statements are greatly appreciated because they help explain what David Allen is opposing in his book. However, they are problematic. First, the three propositions stress the limitedness of Christ’s atoning work (notice the use of “only” in each proposition). Again he defines his opponents by their stress on the atonement’s limitation, not its certitude or efficacy. The problem with this definition is that many, if not most, “limitarians” focus on the efficacy and intention of the atonement, not its limited scope. Yes, there are counter-examples, but in general, Allen’s broad definition will only increase suspicions about “five-point Calvinists” and reinforce a party spirit in Allen’s denomination.
Second, the supporting arguments are true as far as they go, but again they present “limitarians” with language and theological categories defined by Allen himself. In other words, a leading argument for definite atonement has to do with biblical stipulations of the priesthood and new covenant, not just the theological category of the atonement’s nature. Unfortunately, Allen does not include that language or consideration here. Certainly, a summary like this does not need to address every argument, but as we will consider further, Allen displays a pattern of overlooking the biblical theological arguments made by many.
All in all, Allen’s introduction helps ameliorate certain problems in this atonement debate, but it exacerbates others. More exactly, his introduction shows why the divide continues to widen between those who herald universal atonement and those who defend definite atonement. Writing as a Baptist who rigorously defends universal atonement, I do not expect Allen to write a volume defending “limitarians,” but as Kevin Vanhoozer has suggested with respect to hermeneutics, we ought to employ the Golden Rule—to treat of others as they would want to be treated, or to describe their position as they themselves would. Allen has not done this, and for all the value of his historical research, his opening definitions reveal that his work is not as objective as he would like us to believe (xvi).
Stepping into Church History but Misunderstanding the New Covenant Argument for Definite Atonement
Leaving the introduction behind, we enter Allen’s 700 page history of the atonement and its extent. Allen divides his book into three parts. Part One follows the extent of the atonement through church history (ch. 1-4); Part Two focuses on the Baptist tradition (ch. 5-7); and Part Three gives a chapter-by-chapter critique of the 2013 book From Heaven He Came and Sought Her, a book that defends the doctrine of definite atonement (ch. 8). This last part also contains a final argument for “why unlimited atonement matters” (ch. 9). Though a full summary cannot be given here, I will respond to many recurring themes in his book, most of which relate to his historical and theological methodology.
In Part One, Allen traces the extent of the atonement through church history. Under four headings, he considers four eras. Introducing the reader to scores of church fathers, Allen succeeds in providing quotations from (1) the early and medieval era, (2) the Reformation era, (3) Post-Reformation era, (4) the modern era. Of these sections, the portion devoted to Calvin and the Calvinists is most informative and engaging. Entering the ring on this well-worn debate, Allen provides a comprehensive and up-to-date discussion on Calvin and the atonement. He argues against scholars like Paul Helm, Robert Peterson, and Carl Trueman and gives a credible defense of Calvin as a proponent of universal atonement. Students of the Reformation will be well-served by Allen’s thorough research, even if they do not agree with his conclusions.
Unfortunately, chapter 1 (and chapter 4) does not share the same level of examination. Rather, in chapter 1, Allen commonly cites passages without any introduction or comment. He recognizes the “danger” of cherry-picking quotations, and so he encourages readers to “consult the research websites of David Ponter [calvinandcalvinism.com] and Tony Byrne [theologicalmeditations.blogspot.com]” (4). Directing his readers to these online databases, Allen makes the decision to “only list the quotation and not elaborate” (ibid.). This conserves space, but it results in a history that looks too much like an unkempt front yard. Allen’s whole book is verdant with research, but there is great inconsistency between the well-manicured Reformation and Post-Reformation history, the sparser Patristic era, and the thorough but spotty treatments of the modern church.
After Calvin and the Reformation, Allen moves to the Post-Reformation period, where he interacts with Jacob Arminius and the Synod of Dort (135-62), Moïse Amyraut and the Samaur School (163-73), and the English Puritans (173-253). In this last section, he engages John Owen thoroughly, but his engagement depends almost exclusively on Neil Chambers’ 1998 master’s thesis critiquing Owen, as well as Dan Chapa’s blogsite which converts Owen’s arguments into logical syllogisms. Once again, this chapter shows great thoroughness in treating the history of the atonement as it developed after the Reformation. But this is very different from the chapter on the modern period, which functions with few exceptions more like an annotated bibliography of many important theologians and books. This is not an outright critique, so much as a necessary function of the book’s scope. No book can capture every historical detail, and this becomes increasingly obvious as Allen traces the doctrine from the eighteenth to the twenty-first century.
Some like John Owen (204-27), Jonathan Edwards (268-77), and C. John Kennedy (347-57) receive great attention, but others like George Smeaton who wrote a two-volume, 1,000-page exposition of the atonement receives only a few paragraphs (358-59). This imbalance seems to expose the strength and weakness of Allen’s history. His comprehensiveness introduces the reader to “all”(?) the important voices that have made their way into the English-speaking church, but such a study cannot do justice to all of them. Rather, Allen is heavily dependent on the analysis of others and highly willing to use their research to support his own.
For instance, when Allen engages John Owen’s The Death of Death in the Death of Christ, Allen quotes extensively from Neil Chambers and Dan Chapa. Thus, to read Allen on Owen is to read Allen on Chambers and Chapa on Owen. And though Neil Chambers dissertation is an important but “seldom-recognized” critique of John Owen (204) and Dan Chapa’s logical syllogisms nicely abbreviates Owen’s wordiness, the prolixity of Owen is matched by David Allen. For instance, instead of engaging with Owen directly on the question of the covenant of redemption, Allen cites Chambers.
Chambers exposed Owen’s methodological fallacy in his treatment of the covenant of redemption. Such a covenant structure is introduced prior to any examination of Scripture. For Owen, his theology precedes exegesis. Owen also commits a hermeneutical fallacy—the promises made to the Messiah in the Old Testament are made to reflect promises made to the Son in eternity. (217)
This is followed by a seven-point “critique of Owen’s covenant of redemption” by Chambers (217) and a citation by Keith Loftin, whose unpublished paper, “A Barthian Critique of the Covenant of Redemption,” asserts that “if one affirms the covenant of redemption, one thereby surrenders an orthodox doctrine of the divine nature” (218).
What is going on? From such a review, one would get the impression that (1) Karl Barth’s theology is more orthodox than John Owen’s, (2) the covenant of redemption is an errant doctrine with no exegetical support, and (3) it is not necessary to actually engage the exegetical and theological labors of John Owen. Surely, David Allen is more than capable of reading Owen’s work, citing his key points, and critiquing them on his own. Why does he enlist the (unpublished) works of others? In so doing, he neglects to show (1) how exegetical John Owen is and (2) how biblical the covenant of redemption is. It is one thing to engage the exegetical work of John Owen and prove its failings, or to reject the covenant of redemption after examining the biblical texts adduced to support it, but it is another thing entirely to list endless criticisms without actually doing work in the text of Scripture.
Unfortunately, none of Owen’s exegetical work is considered; instead, only a summary of critiques are given. Karl Barth and Neil Chambers are cited to reject the covenant of redemption without any consideration for the exegetical basis of the covenant of redemption, something explained by Andreas Köstenberger and Scott Swain in their work on John’s Gospel. Likewise, the covenant of redemption is shaded with hints of heterodoxy, which raises questions about the fidelity of those who hold to the London Baptist Confession, a long-standing Baptist confession that affirms the “eternal covenant transaction that was between the Father and the Son” (§7.3). In short, Allen’s approach to John Owen is methodologically lacking and rhetorically misleading. In the end, Allen has not gone to the Bible to contend with Owen, he has instead recruited others who have. As a result, his historical presentation does not adequately address the exegetical questions surrounding men like Owen, as Allen had so intended when he introduced his book (xxvii)
Next, Allen moves into the modern period with a chapter that ranges from the Marrow Controversy in eighteenth century Scotland to the three views book published in 2015, Perspectives on the Extent of the Atonement. Reserving discussion of Baptist voices for Part Two, Allen provides a copious history of the doctrine from the eighteenth to the twenty-first century. Clearly, on this side of the Reformation, the debate has picked up steam and added specificity.
That said, there continues to be a pattern in David Allen’s book, where he misunderstands a critical complex of arguments related to the extent of the atonement with the priesthood and the new covenant. As mentioned earlier, Allen does not include the new covenant or the priestly ministry of Christ in his main supporting arguments for definite atonement (xxvii). Yet, interestingly, this is the first argument John Owen makes in The Death of Death in the Death of Christ (208). Likewise, Carl Trueman, who Allen describes as “a good example of how many contemporary limitarians argue the case for limited atonement” (452), chiefly argues for definite atonement on the basis of Christ’s priestly office. Still, this new covenant, priestly argument continues to be a stumbling block for Allen. And this shows up in at least four places.
First, in Carl Trueman’s chapter in Perspectives on the Extent of the Atonement, Trueman makes his argument for definite atonement on the basis of “the biblical nature of Christ’s mediation, specifically as it relates to the unity of intention that undergirds his priestly work of sacrifice and intercession.” From this starting point, Trueman develops a biblical-theological understanding of the priestly office, while tackling many of the universal texts in the process. Grounding his arguments in passages like Leviticus 16, Hebrews 9-10, Isaiah 53, 1 Peter 2, and Romans 5, Trueman shows how the “doctrinal matrix” of the priesthood informs the question of the atonement’s extent. In this way, the question of the atonement’s extent is clarified by the nature, efficacy, and particularity of the priesthood.
Yet, for all the biblical theology involved in this approach, David Allen chastises Trueman for putting theology over the Bible.
Though on the surface this approach may seem laudable, upon deeper inspection it appears to place theology before exegesis. Trueman’s approach also reveals the fact that while there are no statements in Scripture affirming limited atonement, there are many that overtly affirm unlimited atonement. When push comes to shove, these verses wind up being forced into a limitarian framework in an effort to serve a particular theological scheme, as the other two authors in the book point out. (452)
What David Allen does not appreciate in Trueman’s approach is just how biblical his theology is. It is a non sequitur to juxtapose theology with exegesis. Just as the best exegesis leads to theological doctrines, frameworks, and visions, the best theology is always filled with Scripture. In fact, I would suggest that much of the difference between Allen and Trueman revolves less on questions related to the atonement and more on how to do theology.
As will be further evidenced in the next three examples, David Allen’s theology, like his church history which runs to 800 pages, is, at best, additive. He collects the data, counts the words, and adds up the verses. From this data he computes propositional formulas that tally up a thin summation of doctrine based on the superficial language of the Bible. While “biblical,” such a reading is not “theological.” Rather, it is a modern example of the methodology Mark Noll excoriates in The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind. By contrast to Allen’s additive approach, Trueman comes far closer to reading the Bible on its own terms, with the covenantal structures of Adam and Christ, the priestly structures of Leviticus and Hebrews, and “doctrinal matrix” of atonement as the context for reading any individual passage. Accordingly, Trueman provides a much more robust, theological reading of Scripture. Trueman’s approach will not meet David Allen’s criteria, but let the reader understand, it is a far more comprehensive and “biblical” way to read the Bible and do theology.
Related to this methodological difference is the difference in inquiry between Trueman and Allen. Whereas Allen restricts all discussion to the extent of the atonement, Trueman plainly rejects Allen’s premise. He states,
To pose the question in terms of the atonement’s extent [as Allen does] is not the most appropriate way to approach the topic. Couched in such a loaded form, it immediately generates obvious questions: How can the atonement be preached other than to those who know (by some mystical experience?) that they are already elect? Does it not thereby kill evangelism? In fact, it is better to think of the question of the atonement’s extent as an inference drawn from its nature and efficacy.
From a comparison of Allen and Trueman, we can see how these two scholars are climbing the hill of Calvary on different sides and with different gear. It should not surprise us, then, that they do not agree. What should surprise us in Allen’s case is how rigid he is in his insistence on the state of the question: What is the extent?
While he helpfully shows the nuances of various theologians throughout church history, his insistence on shoehorning Calvinist and non-Calvinist alike into the camp of “unlimited atonement” sounds more like a Shibboleth than a method for better understanding the issues. Sadly, whereas Carl Trueman allows for a broader, confessional definition of limited atonement, Allen insists on asking everyone about the extent, thus he frames limitarians according to his own views. He does not present them as they would present themselves.
Next, when David Allen (through the dissertation of Neil Chambers) engaged the views of John Owen, he also contested J. I. Packer. In response to the argument concerning the nature of the atonement (i.e., penal substitution) and its support of definite atonement, Allen takes up the issues of sacrifices. He writes, “Biblically, there is nothing in a sacrifice per se, whether Passover or the Day of Atonement, that makes the sacrifice as constituting an exclusive one-to-one relationship with any of the participants. What includes Israelites in the effectiveness of those sacrifices is faith. Faith constitutes the one-to-one substitution. According to Chambers, Packer wants substitution to be constitutive of faith” (221).
There are a lot of moving pieces here, but let me try to unpack a significant confusion in Allen’s criticism of Owen and Packer. First, Allen has imported the individual experience of the new covenant into the sacrificial system of the old covenant. Under the new covenant, every Christian has the Holy Spirit, is a priest before God, and is able to approach boldly the throne of grace. Such is not the case under the old covenant. Under the old covenant, a system of mediation has been graciously implemented, so that the nation of Israel might worship Yahweh and dwell in his presence through a system of priests. Allen, however, has conflated these two dispensations, without paying attention to the progressive development of the covenants.
At the same time, he has universally denied any one-to-one relationship between sacrifice and sacrificer. He offers as two examples the Passover and the Day of Atonement. Unfortunately, this a priori dismissal of the one-to-one relationship will not do. Each sacrifice, like each covenant, has its own stipulations. We must ask, what are the stipulations of the sacrifice? The Day of Atonement is fundamentally aimed at cleansing the holy place (see Lev 16); hence, it does not have a one-to-one relationship. But the Passover lamb was given for each household, such that if a household was too small, the lamb was to be shared (Exod 12:3-4). Certainly, something of proportionality is at play here. Likewise, with respect to substitution, when the Levites redeemed the firstborn sons in Numbers 3, the numbers did not match. Therefore, a monetary offering, in the place of the remaining 273 unredeemed sons, was needed (v. 46). Space does not permit a full survey of the sacrifices, but we can say that every sacrifice has a specific object in view. And it will not do to make a blanket statement that “nothing in the sacrifice … constitutes a one-to-one relationship.” We must look at the stipulations of the sacrifices themselves.
Finally, it is anachronistic to posit new covenant faith as the norm for the old covenant people of God. Galatians 3:23 clearly states that there was a time, under Moses, before faith came. Faith, as Paul puts it, is a blessing of the new covenant. Not all people in OT Israel had this enduring faith (cf. Ps 95); some did—as Hebrews 11 attests—but they are the ones who looked through the types and shadows of the old covenant and believed in the promises of God to come. In other words, while under the old covenant, only some men and women experienced new covenant grace by means of God’s Spirit that pointed them to the coming Messiah. And with future faith in the promised Messiah they were saved. Many in Israel, however, did not have this faith. Thus, David Allen confuses the matter when he speaks of faith as the determining factor with respect to the atonement. Because he does not distinguish old covenant “faith,” which believed God (Exod 14:31; Ps 106:12) and yet forgot his works (Ps 106:13) and died in the wilderness (Ps 95), from new covenant faith, which believes on Christ and is sustained by the power of the Holy Spirit, his argument founders. In sum, Allen regularly opposes the priestly argument, the relationship of atonement and intercession, and the new covenant efficacy of the atonement as an argument for its definite nature (and by extension limited scope), but he does so without proving a sufficient understanding of how the cross is situated in the biblical covenants.
A third evidence of covenantal misunderstanding is found in David Allen’s hasty treatment of Hugh Martin’s The Atonement: In Its Relations to the Covenant, the Priesthood, the Intercession of our Lord. He writes, “As the title indicates, it is as defense of limited atonement arguing primarily for the priestly office and ministry of Christ. Martin attempted to demonstrate that Christ only prayed for the elect (John 17), hence he only suffered for the sins of the elect” (372). The former statement is true, Martin’s book considered the atonement with respect to the priesthood of Christ; but the latter statement is false, Martin’s book is not primarily an argument relating the extent of the intercession to the extent of atonement. Rather, it is a book rooted in the Scottish tradition of covenant theology. From that covenantal system of thought, it explains how the priestly work of Christ relates to the blessings of the new covenant. Far more than a thin argument from John 17:9, Martin’s book showcases the importance of the new covenant priesthood and how that work of mediation conjoins a priest to his people. Allen’s truncated view of Martin’s work only reiterates his oversight of the biblical covenants and their relationship to the atonement.
Fourth, Allen’s deficiencies with respect to the priesthood and covenant surface again in his engagement with Stephen Wellum’s chapter on Christ’s priesthood and the atonement. In his review of Wellum, he labels Wellum’s view as “commercialistic” (740). The problem with this ascription is that Wellum is not employing the traditional arguments for a commercial view of the atonement. He’s not arguing quantitatively that if Christ suffered more, more men would be saved. He’s not even placing ransom language as the central motif of the cross; rather, Wellum’s argument is set within the context of Leviticus and Hebrews. In other words, Wellum’s approach is thoroughly covenantal, one that might share some superficial traits with the commercial view, but only for those unable to tell the difference between a biblical covenant and a secular metaphor.
As Allen denotes, “Wellum believes that all general atonement views remove the work of Christ from its new covenant context” (737). It is true, Wellum argues for an understanding of the cross in the context of the new covenant. His chapter proceeds to explain how the new covenant, complete with a thorough-going understanding of Christ’s role as new covenant high priest, leads to a definite view of the atonement. Allen captures Wellum’s argument by saying, “Here is Wellum’s key assumption: the atonement’s extent and application must be coextensive. Those for whom Christ died must receive the covenant benefits.” But then Allen responds, “But where in Scripture is that stated? There is no place in Scripture that asserts Wellum’s point” (737).
This, of course, is the point of the whole debate. Must the extent of the atonement be decided by a handful of proof-texts, as Allen demands? Or would it be better to form of view of atonement’s extent by way of reading the whole Bible, such that the macrostructures of the Bible (i.e., priest, covenant, sacrifice) inform the answer, as Wellum asserts? When Wellum defends definite atonement from a whole Bible presentation of the priesthood, Allen cries “foul” because Wellum does not supply enough verses extricated from the whole Bible to satisfy his objections. But again this raises the question—which approach is more biblical? Should the debate turn on a few key verses, where universal words have more weight than particular words? Or might larger biblical structures better solve the riddle?
This is not the place to debate all these points. But it is important to identify the methodological differences between Wellum (Trueman, Owen, Packer, and Martin) and that of David Allen. It is equally important to observe how repeatedly Allen stumbles over the covenantal and typological arguments made by these men. In the end, his difficulty understanding their arguments hinders his ability to provide an objective history or critical review. Instead of rightly conveying the views of these men, he repeatedly (and I believe unintentionally) misrepresents their positions and leads others to do the same.
In the end, Allen struggles to understand Trueman because he is not placing the “causal connection between the death of Christ and the actual accomplishment of salvation in the believer” (453) in the context of a covenant which transcends space and time (cf. Rom 6:1-6). He misreads Packer and Owen because he understands the sacrificial system without consideration of the covenantal stipulations of the Old Testament and the development of covenants across the canon. He misses the main point of Hugh Martin because he slots Martin into the thin argument of atonement and intercession rather than the thick argument of priest and people. And he understands Stephen Wellum as a proponent of a commercial theory of the atonement because Allen doesn’t see how the new covenant is the underlying system that gives shape to Wellum’s argument.
Put it all together, and you have a recipe for needless misrepresentation and the hardening of boundaries between various “camps”—a woeful term Allen uses throughout his book. I hope this misrepresentation is not Allen’s intent, but the effect of his misreading is significant and the extent of his error is widespread. Because he forces his question of the extent on all who explain the extent by way of the stipulations of the biblical covenants and the structures of biblical theology (i.e., priestly typology), he repeatedly misfires his criticisms. This ultimately impoverishes his readers understanding and does little to serve fellow Christians discussing this subject with greater light and less heat.
Reinforcing the Divide Among Baptists
In Part Two, Allen turns his attention to the Baptist tradition. Like the last section, the reader is led in a two-hundred page history of Baptist theologians from Thomas Grantham (461) to Gary Shultz (640-44). Beginning in England (ch. 5), Allen moves to North America (ch. 6) and then to the Southern Baptist Convention (ch. 7). Overall, these chapters provide a helpful introduction to the works Baptists have contributed to the debate, but they also do little to help bridge the divide on this debate.
Among all the books Allen lists, his is unique in that it provides a thorough catalog of Baptist theologians who have delved into the questions about the atonement, its intent and extent. A quick survey of his chapters shows that Allen begins with the history of General and Particular Baptists (460-67). This is followed by a significant section on the problem of “Hyper-Calvinism among Particular Baptists in Eighteenth-Century England” (467-506). In this section, Allen considers whether Andrew Fuller held to limited atonement or not. While historians have argued both sides, Allen concludes that Fuller “did indeed shift from a limitarian position to an unlimited view of the extent of the atonement” (497). He continues, “Fuller was a Particular Redemptionist who held to universal atonement,” a distinction he finds in the language of eighteenth century Baptists (ibid.).
William Carey, Andrew Fuller’s close friend, is also considered at length in this section (497-500). And though Allen cannot find sufficient evidence to convict Carey of holding to universal atonement, he believes it is likely. What is striking is the way Allen labors in this section to enfold Carey, the great Baptist missionary to India, into his universalist camp. Writing in our modern context, where “Traditional” Southern Baptists vehemently question or deny the ability of their “limitarian” brothers to make a free offer of the gospel, it serves his purposes well to show the most missions-minded Baptist forebears are universalist in their views of the atonement. Yet, what is missing is any consideration of the evangelistic labors of someone like James Haldane.
Under Allen’s treatment, Haldane was a limitarian after the likes of John Owen (501-02). He reports how Haldane wrote against Howard Hinton to defend definite atonement. Again, Allen charges Haldane with error for focusing attention on the intent of the atonement, rather than its extent (502). But what he does not include is the revival sparked in Scotland under Haldane’s evangelistic preaching. It is not expected that Allen would include every fact of history about every person in his book, but one gets a different vision of Haldane when they consider that he ardently defended definite atonement and he freely preached the gospel to tens of thousands in Scotland, touching off revival in Northern Scotland in the early nineteenth century.
Allen considers it inconsistent to offer the gospel freely while affirming definite atonement, as he states regarding Charles Spurgeon (504). Nevertheless, it would serve contemporary Southern Baptists well to consider that “five-point Calvinists” are not necessarily restrictive in their evangelism or inclined to hyper-Calvinism, any more than General Baptists are inclined to universalism or liberalism because they argued for the universal love of God. In short, Allen’s chapter on English Baptists is helpful because it recounts an important and unresolved division among Baptists (i.e., Generalists vs. Particularists). He even shows that there were more nuances than the two titles evince (514), but again his story-telling does little to help build confidence between Southern Baptists who both hold to the free offer of the gospel, but who may assume or assert different views on the atonement’s intent/extent.
Crossing the Atlantic, chapters 6 and 7 survey, respectively, Baptists in North America and Southern Baptists in particular. Allen’s history is chronological and thorough. While neither chapter focuses on a particular person or issue (as with John Calvin or Andrew Fuller), Allen provides a Wikipedia-like introduction to “all” Baptists in America who have written on the subject since the eighteenth century. The longest entry in these two chapters is his critique of my own chapter defending definite atonement in Whomever He Wills. After the publication of that book in 2013, Allen responded with a series of eight-blog posts. The contents of those posts have been joined and included here (614-40). I will leave it to judicious reader to judge the merits of Allen’s criticisms of my chapter. (Any response to Allen’s criticism of my views can be seen above in the discussion regarding David Allen’s approach to biblical theology and the covenantal structures of the Bible).
All in all, the historical sections of David Allen’s book provide a thorough-going review of atonement theology read through his own understanding of the doctrine. Rightly, he helps the reader to see that the limitarian position, as he calls it, is one that developed over time. Likewise, he shows that the arguments for and against universal atonement have taken on many shapes and included various arguments and evidences. Such is the difficulty with framing the position with any number of labels.
Still, for all the helpful research presented in this book, the overall impact of this book seems only to sharpen the lines that already exist. Because of the way Allen has delegitimized the intent question, his history will only reinforce (or convince) those who believe the extent of the atonement is what matters most. Worse, all who uncritically accept his arguments against “limitarians” will be tempted to cast aspersions on brothers in Christ, yet without fully understanding their position. In this way, Allen’s book is a good starting place for finding the most important contributions to the extent of the atonement debate. However, when it comes to a thorough analysis of the question, The Extent of the Atonement adds much weight to the subject, but little light.
Reviewing the Most Important Book on Definite Atonement in More Than a Century
Part Three of The Extent of the Atonement “examine[s] and critique[s] the latest scholarly work written in defense of limited atonement, From Heaven He Came and Sought Her … and summarize[s] why unlimited atonement comports better with Scripture” (657). Published in 2013, this twenty-three chapter book provides the most robust defense of definite atonement “in over a century,” says Michael Horton on the back cover. And like Allen’s The Extent of the Atonement, it examines church history with chapters on the Patristics, Calvin, and others. However, it also includes six exegetical studies, six chapters related to systematic theology, and three more on the practical and pastoral considerations for definite atonement. In this way, it is a volume more well-rounded and symphonic, as it consults the expertise of scholars from a wide variety of disciplines and church traditions.
Still, From Heaven He Came and Sought Her is not without its shortcomings and David Allen makes his readers know where to find them. In a review spanning over 100 pages, Allen interacts with every chapter, every author, and every argument (657-763). With tongue in cheek, you might say this chapter is Allenasius Contra Mundum, or more precisely, David Allen for the sake of the (whole) world. More soberly, Allen shows in this chapter how seriously he takes this subject and how willing he is to debate the issue wherever it appears. From Haykin’s dependence on secondary sources in his study of the Patristics (666), to Lee Gatiss’s historical biases (683), to Alec Motyer’s error of “reading one’s theology into the text and drawing the wrong conclusions” (696), to the sum of all the exegetical arguments failing to “shor[e] up definite atonement’s faulty exegetical foundation” (718), to Donald Macleod’s unnecessary critique of Karl Barth (719), to all the theological arguments depending on “theological deductions” without any “clear scriptural support” (748), to John Piper “confusing intent and extent” (757), David Allen succeeds in finding error with every chapter in From Heaven He Came and Sought Her.
By this point, Allen’s point-by-point refutation of definite atonement should not surprise us, any more than the friend obsessed with frames keeps pointing to their four corners. Rather, Allen’s extended review only confirms the pattern we have observed throughout—namely, that he will spar with anyone who focuses their attention on the nature, design, or intent of the atonement rather than the extent as a question left unto itself. In his critical review of From Heaven He Came and Sought Her, this bears special mention.
First, Allen takes issue with David and Jonathan Gibson’s definition of definite atonement, saying, “In short, the authors conflate, and thus confuse the notions of intent and extent when it comes to the atonement” (661). Next, he blames Raymond Blacketer with “confus[ing] the question of ‘intent’ with that of ‘extent’ when he refers to this particularist trajectory” that he observes in the Reformed tradition (677). Moving into the exegetical section, he objects to Thomas Schreiner’s reading of 1 Peter 2:1 because he “conflat[es] the intent, extent, and application of the atonement” (717). Then, in the theological section, he says of Donald Macleod, “Here he [Macleod] rightly acknowledges the distinction between the intent and extent of the atonement, but as we shall see, he appears to misunderstand the connection between the two” (718-19). Likewise, Allen takes issue with the way Robert Letham, Garry Williams, and Henri Blocher handle the language of intent and extent in their respective chapters (724-25, 728, 743). While Allen objects to their interpretations of history (i.e., the historical theology of men like Moïses Amyraut and Charles Hodge), what unites his objections is his ongoing concern—does the main question concern the atonement’s extent (the frame) or the atonement’s intent (the portrait)?
In the work edited by David and Jonathan Gibson, the overwhelming testimony is that definite atonement is a belief that Christ died efficaciously for a particular people, hence the doctrine is best denominated “definite atonement” not “limited atonement.” Limitation only comes into the picture as an entailment of the larger more important question—Why did Christ die? Allen scoffs at this approach, as is evidenced in his five-fold dismissal of any kind of theological entailment (748). He believes these theological deductions have no clear Scriptural support. And he marshals seven hundred pages of church history to support his case that the extent of atonement is what matters alone. However, in making that sweeping claim he does not adequately prove that this is the question. Therefore, if he has wrongly framed the question, it is as though he’s driven his readers half-way across the country in the wrong direction, without redeeming himself or the argument which he continually avers.
By the end of his critical review, all but the most zealous polemicist will be weary from the journey. To be sure, the splendor of the cross is an infinitely precious and eternally ponderable truth. But that is because it beckons the child of God to behold his king in the beauty of his loving sacrifice and glorious victory. By contrast, the debate around the extent of the atonement lacks such soul-enflaming luster. Rather, as Charles Spurgeon observed and David Allen noted, prolonged consideration of the extent of the atonement encrusts the heart—something all interlocutors of this subject would do well to remember (506).
Because endless study and debate on the extent of the atonement trains the theological eye to judge the size and shape of the world, church, etc., rather than Christ himself, it necessarily makes the theologian spend time on something close to Christ but not on the One in the fullness of God’s grace and glory are revealed. By contrast, a study of the atonement’s nature, design, and intent does focus directly on the Son, the object of our faith. For this reason, I believe From Heaven He Came and Sought Her with its repeated emphasis on the intent of the atonement confuses nothing, as Allen would say, but helps the Christian find the more central question—Who is Christ? What did his cross accomplish? And from there we are able to discern the extent of the atonement.
Back to the Beginning: The Central Point of Division Comes Back to a Disagreement on Theological Method
In his last chapter, David Allen concludes his volume with an argument for why belief in unlimited atonement matters and why any belief in limited atonement should be rejected. He starts by categorizing key figures in church history into one of four categories: Arminian, Class/Moderate Calvinism, High Calvinism, and Hyper-Calvinism (766). These four categories match the ones he outlined and defined in the first chapter (xxviii). Quickly, he summarizes his findings in the historical section (767-72), and he concludes that there are three views concerning the extent of the atonement among Calvinists.
- The atonement is limited quantitatively (equivalentism) to the elect only.
- The atonement is limited in its design and extent to the elect only.
- The atonement is limited in its ultimate design or intent to be applied to the elect but is unlimited with respect to the satisfaction of the sins of all men. (772)
From this list Allen proceeds to address five problems with “limited atonement” and those who hold that position. These five problems are organized under five headings:
- Ambiguity and Equivocation in High Calvinism [with respect to the sufficiency of Christ’s atonement] (772-77)
- Scripture and the Extent of the Atonement (777-79)
- The Love of God and the Extent of the Atonement (779-84)
- Logic and the Extent of the Atonement (784-85)
- Preaching, Evangelism, Missions, and the Extent of the Atonement (785-90)
Space does permit a full disputation on each of these matters, but I will respond to the second, third, and fifth objections, as they are the arguments that come up most in local churches.
David Allen’s second objection to “limited atonement,” regarding Scripture needs clarification. Scripture is the final arbiter, and we should be honest enough to admit that usually this debate is held between those who affirm the inerrancy and authority of Scripture. In other words, this is an internecine debate, and one that should not irreparably divide brothers in Christ.
In truth, the problem is less the absence of Scripture supporting definite atonement and more a question of how to make a theological argument from Scripture. The issue is not a matter of Scripture proof, but hermeneutical methods. John Owen, Carl Trueman, and Steve Wellum, to name only a few, have all made biblical arguments. Allen has not recognized them as such, but that speaks more to his own biases than the biblical-ness of definite atonement. Allen does not permit the biblical arguments of limitarians because they don’t match his Procrustean bed of sawed-off Scripture verses. But his additive approach to doctrinal formulation is not without weaknesses of its own.
Consequently, anyone interested in advancing this discussion, and not just winning their side, will need to concede that both sides are making arguments from the Bible. The question is, “Who is reading the Bible better?” and, “Who has a better theological method?” Answering this question of prolegomena will do much to help further this discussion.
Next, David Allen’s third point disapproves of any notion that God’s love is manifold. He writes, “All non-Calvinists find this notion of God’s ‘saving love’ or ‘special love’ as defined by Calvinists to be problematic” (780). To defend his case, he appeals to the work of John C. Pecknam and his canonical argument for God’s love. Unfortunately, the argumentation turns toward the philosophical. Instead of defining love exegetically, even by the cross (1 John 3:16), Allen cites Pecknam to define love according to human freedom, because this is the nature of love itself (782).
Accordingly, Allen shows that his disagreement with “limitarians” is far more than how to handle the “all” and “world” passages; he has a different view of God and the world. Thus, another place where this discussion needs to turn for light relates to theology proper and the sovereignty of God in salvation. For as long as there are differences about God’s love, God’s election, and God’s sovereignty, no clarity will be found on this issue of cross.
Similarly, Allen’s fifth argument demonstrates another fundamental difference. For Allen, there must be something nearly tangible in Christ’s death for the “well-meant gospel offer” to be made. He writes, “Without belief in … a universal extent in Christ’s sin-bearing, there can be no well-meant offer of salvation from God to the non-elect who hear the gospel call. It would be like being invited to the Master’s banquet table where no chair, table setting, and food has actually been provided” (786). This illustration forgets Jesus’ parable of the Master’s banquet (Matt 22:1–14) and treats salvation like a commodity or a created good. First, in Jesus’ parable, the invitation to join the banqueting feast is rejected by all those who are not chosen (v. 14). The dilemma Allen poses here of sufficient food is not a dilemma in Matthew 22. Rather, it confirms the fact that the non-elect will not respond in repentant faith, because they have not been chosen. Their disinterest in the king and his banqueting table gives evidence of their unbelieving wickedness and the universal need for God’s effectual calling to bring people into the kingdom.
At the same time, Allen demands witnesses must have something to offer when they share the gospel with others. However, the gospel is news, not stuff. There is no inventory to the gospel. It is sufficient by its very nature, because it comes it is the message of God’s Word.
When God who created the world with his Word sends forth the gospel through the Spirit and the Church, he effectively calls his sheep by name (John 10:4). They do not become sheep by their belief or by the stuff evangelists share with them. As John 10:26 states, sheep are proven to be sheep by their belief in the gospel. Hence, Christ’s voice is what creates their faith and quickens their return. In this, there is no risk that gospel-minded “limitarians” would not have something to offer in their preaching. We are not offering salvation as a snake oil to avoid hell; we are offering Christ and him crucified. And in Christ there is no lack or short supply. This may not be the way David Allen explains his doctrine of the atonement, but it is unnecessary to argue that Christians cannot preach the gospel unless they believe like David Allen does.
Finally, this brings up the subject of the “bold proclamation” in preaching, a contrivance Allen demands necessary for full proclamation of the gospel (789). In response, it should be noted that such language is never demanded by Scripture. Worse, it may even cheapen the presentation of the gospel. Too many progressive evangelicals already preach a gospel of self-affirmation, one that begins with a message that “God loves you as you are … where you are … and how you are.” Sadly, as much truth as this message conveys, it has sold the church and the world a gospel devoid of repentance. As a result, this puts the sinner at the center of God’s universe, without first (re)orienting the sinner to the immense holiness, righteousness, not to mention God-centeredness, of our infinitely-glorious God. In short, I question the wisdom, let alone the necessity, of indiscriminately saying “God loves YOU” without helping that person to understand why Christ died in the first place.
It seems Allen wants to roll into the initial gospel message something that should be reserved for the Lord’s Table. At the Lord’s Table, the church gathers to affirm one another’s place in the kingdom. In that holy communion, where brother and sister know one another’s faith, hope, and love, they can and must say, “God loves you; Christ died for you; the Spirit lives in you.” But in the initial presentation of the gospel, I question the wisdom of that message. And more, to make such a demand on preachers of the gospel seems awfully close to legalism—making an extra-biblical turn of phrase a necessary litmus test (a Shibboleth) for true preaching. Yes, we must preach the cross simply, repeatedly, and boldly, but does a “belief in limited atonement necessarily entail a hindrance to preaching and evangelism” (789-90)? I know that’s what David Allen has spent 800 pages trying to prove, but I am unconvinced.
Let Us Fix Our Eyes On Christ and His Finished Work More Than the Our Brothers Definition of the Atonement’s Extent
Judicious readers will have to decide if Allen has approached his subject correctly. As I have attempted to show, I do not believe he has asked the right question, nor do I believe his additive approach to doctrine is the best way to settle the debate. Rather, a biblical theology of the atonement that takes into consideration the full canon of Scripture, including the sacrificial system, the role of the priest(s), the nature of the new covenant, and the power of the triune God in salvation will shed far greater light on the subject.
That said, The Extent of the Atonement as a work of historical theology remains important. David Allen has produced a volume that will for generations be a source for locating voices arguing for or against the extent of the atonement. In this way, it should have a place in the reference library of any seminary or seminarian. Still, it must be remembered that like the friend who constantly shouts “Look at the frames!” his book is crippled by placing the secondary question of the extent over and above the primary question of the atonement’s nature and intent. In this way, The Extent of the Atonement adds another long chapter to this debate, but one that will do little to help brothers dwell together in unity.
Perhaps the same could be said for this long review. Nevertheless, it has been my hope to observe the methodological differences between proponents of universal and definite atonement. My goal has been less to rebut all of David Allen’s arguments, as much as to demonstrate the weakness of his theological method and to highlight ways he has misrepresented his brothers in Christ.
To be fair, misrepresentation of this kind goes both ways. And it is a shame that brothers in Christ who affirm the inerrancy of Scripture, a passion for the lost, and commitment to gospel would continue to focus on the division of this doctrinal point. Certainly, it is an important debate to have, but it is not as central or important as proclaiming the central truths of the gospel—a reality that all Southern Baptists who affirm the Baptist Faith and Message 2000 can mutually agree.
Thus, my final plea for all who care deeply about Christ, his cross, and the atonement is this: let us spend our greatest time beholding Christ, preaching the gospel, witnessing to the lost, and sharing the love of God with the world; let us be quick to affirm the unity we enjoy in the gospel of Jesus Christ and the power of God’s love pour out at Calvary; let us be slow to cast aspersions at others who hold a different view of the atonement’s extent; and ultimately, let us fix our eyes on the center of the portrait, and gaze long and lovingly at Jesus Christ; let us care about the frame in which the portrait is set, but let us care far more for Jesus Christ, the one mediator between God and man, who will one day return and make plain all the Scripture over which we now quarrel. He, not our theological positions, is the hope of the world—however we define that word.